reprator

there is enough room in the drilled wells of my palms' centre in attempt to fill the lack of my heart's faith: trust. trust in myself that sacrifices will be sacrifices, and that it is your white cancer i will ferment with my hot vices, splattered on a rock's bedding. who it knocks to sleep in the tunnel, he does not matter until slowly... what remained from the pair of punctures leaks into a sink of bloody tusses amidst the sinking bodies. until slowly, slowly i cannot hide it anymore: you remained despite everything. we are both wed with disease, there is enough of us damned down here. but it will end with you and me. the wine of the ages. 

tell my friends to hang their jackets, it is the middle of june. tell them to hang themselves.